by Josh Lanyon
“There’s always the chance he lives up here,” Will said as they walked back to the Land Cruiser. “Maybe this is his regular Laundromat. Maybe his boxers are tumbling around on Perma Press cycle right now.”
Taylor made a scornful sound.
“I don’t think so either,” Will agreed. “But I also don’t see why anyone would be tailing us.”
Will was right. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like they were working any sensitive or potentially dangerous cases. They weren’t working any cases at all.
“I agree.”
“So?”
“What about Gretchen Hart?” Taylor threw it out there, though he didn’t really buy into the theory.
“She’s had two years to set an investigator on our trail. Why would she wait until now?”
“Maybe she forgot about us until she saw you again?”
“Forgetting about us for two years doesn’t jibe with instantly putting someone on our tail.”
“True. I was going to get Euphonia to run his plates through the DMV, but I got sidetracked with everything else going on.”
“You were going to call in a favor to run his plates?” Will looked surprised.
“Yes.”
“You’re that spooked?”
A little irritably, Taylor said, “I don’t know if I’m spooked, but yeah, it bothers me to think this guy is following us for reasons unknown.”
“You don’t think there’s any chance he recognized you from an old case? Or maybe from somewhere else?”
He couldn’t quite read Will’s expression. Taylor said cautiously, “Somewhere else where?”
“I don’t know. Maybe socially or something?” Will’s expression was even more indecipherable, given that he was, apparently, trying to be tactful.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. You’re the first to admit you’ve had an active social life.”
“Active social life? What is that, code for fucked around?”
“Hey.” Will looked meaningfully — warningly — at the not entirely empty street. “I didn’t realize this was suddenly a sensitive subject. I only mean —”
“I know exactly what you mean, Brandt. And no, I didn’t fu-ool around so much that I wouldn’t remember that guy.”
“This isn’t about you, MacAllister. I’m trying to think of other possibilities for someone recognizing us. I thought that was the object of this discussion.”
Well, hell. Will was absolutely right. Maybe he was a little oversensitive right now. It was hard to erase the image of Will’s old girlfriend with her legs wrapped around him, for chrissake, as she renewed their acquaintanceship.
Into his distracted silence, Will asked, “What now? What next?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I am seeing things. I guess there could be more than one guy in a black leather jacket walking around.”
“True.”
Will was nothing if not honest. Taylor sighed. “What do you want to do?”
“Up to you. You want to head back to the house?”
Taylor thought of Grant, who winced practically every time he looked at him, and of Bill who, though welcoming, was still Will’s dad and kinda, sorta, an inhibiting presence.
No. He did not want to go back to the house. He wanted to spend a little quiet time with Will where no one was going to talk about high school or football or the births, marriages, and deaths of people Taylor did not — and did not particularly want — to know.
He shook his head.
“Okay. You’ve now pretty much seen the sights,” Will said, studying him. “We could check what’s playing at the theater. You want to catch a matinee?”
“No. I don’t want to catch a matinee.”
“Okay. Well.” Will was looking at him in a humoring kind of way. “Whatever you want. You choose, MacAllister.”
“Is there a motel around here?”
“Well, there’s the Black Be —” Will broke off. “A motel?”
“Yes. A motel. We haven’t…” Taylor lowered his voice as they passed an elderly couple, “been together in two weeks.”
His heart sank at the Does Not Compute look he was getting from his partner. Honestly? Was this only bothering him? How could that be? How could it not matter to Will?
But then it got worse.
“Oh.” Will actually blushed. Blushed! Jesus. They had to get out of Mayberry before Will turned straight again. Failing that, they had to go somewhere and fuck before Taylor’s head exploded. Either head. Both heads. Take your pick. He was about as frustrated as he’d ever been in his adult life.
And dismayed that it seemed to be all his problem.
They reached the Land Cruiser and climbed inside. Will had still not said anything since that startled, Oh.
Taylor said, trying to sound calm and reasonable, but knowing he was failing miserably, “Brandt, Jesus. Do I have to beg? Can we please go somewhere and fuck?”
Will looked at him in surprise. “Hell yeah, we’re going somewhere,” he assured Taylor. “I’m just trying to think if there’s a nicer place to take you.”
Taylor started to laugh, largely with relief. For one alarming moment he’d wondered. “Not worried about the décor, Brandt. Seriously. Just find us some place where no one you knew from the good old days is going to walk in on us.”
“The Black Bear Inn it is,” Will said, turning the key in the ignition. As they pulled away from the curb, he said, “For the record, those weren’t the good old days. These days with you, these are the good old days. Right now.”
Taylor wanted to make some joke, say something to lighten the moment, but he couldn’t. It meant a lot to hear Will say it. Especially here in this Will Brandt alternate universe he found himself in.
Will reached over and squeezed his thigh. He was smiling faintly.
* * * * *
A large faded statue of a black bear defended the driveway entrance to the Black Bear Inn. One of the statue’s eyes had been scratched out, whether by time or teenagers, giving the bear’s expression a half-blind, baleful cast.
There were two cars in the motel parking lot. A Forest Service green pickup and a late model silver sedan.
“Here’s a scary thing,” Will said, pulling up beneath the motel archway. “I think I recognize those vehicles.”
“That is scary.” Taylor opened the door and jumped out. “I’ve got this.”
There followed a brief but mildly embarrassing business exchange at the front desk with a pimple-faced youth, and then Taylor climbed back into the SUV. He held the plastic card key up. “This entitles us to a lovely Continental breakfast, which I got to examine firsthand because this morning’s is still sitting out on the counter.”
Will shuddered.
“We’re around the back. Don’t run over any hobos.”
“I knew this wasn’t a five-star place, but I don’t remember it being such a dump.” Will pulled slowly around the L-shaped, one-story building. There were more cars parked behind the motel, most of them partially concealed by the wildly overgrown myrtlewood trees.
“I’m guessing the tourist trade is not how this place stays in business?”
“There is no tourist trade up here.”
Will parked far beneath the boughs of the Oregon-myrtle and they walked across the cracked asphalt lot to the line of discolored blue doors. A couple of rooms down, a curtain twitched and went still.
“Here we are,” Taylor said, sliding the key.
“Don’t remind me,” Will muttered, but his hand was a warm and welcome weight, resting in the small of Taylor’s back.
The door opened to the scent of stale cigarette smoke, bleached linens, and Lysol. The lights were dim, but that was probably a blessing. Taylor had a vague impression of furniture made from plywood and orange-and-brown curtains and bedspreads. There was a faded square over the king-sized bed where a framed picture had once hung. The fact that the picture had possibly been stolen or defaced was probably the most interes
ting thing about the room.
The bed offered a coin-operated massage.
“Is this where you used to bring Madonna when you’d come home from college?” Taylor couldn’t stop staring at the bed. There was a wrinkle across the shiny polyester spread. He glanced at Will.
Will made a face. “A couple of times, yeah.”
“I gotta say. I’m both depressed and weirdly turned on by that.”
Will gave a funny laugh. Their eyes met. Will grabbed Taylor’s shirt and pulled him in for an unexpectedly deep and hungry kiss.
He tasted like Cascade Ale and charbroiled hamburger and himself. He tasted like home. Like everything worth having. It just didn’t matter that they were standing in a seedy, run down motel. They could have been standing in a live volcano, for all Taylor cared. Will’s firm mouth pushed confidently, possessively onto Taylor’s, and Taylor closed his eyes and leaned into that kiss. Until Will, kisses had not meant that much to him. Just a polite preliminary. Hors d’oeuvres before dinner. But he loved to be kissed by Will, actually longed for Will’s kisses.
Will groaned, the sound so heartfelt, so resounding that they both started to laugh. That was sweet too, trying to maintain contact as they shared that amused understanding.
Will pulled away enough to say, “I don’t know what it is about being up here, but every time I look at you I want to throw you on your belly and fuck the daylights out of you.”
Taylor snickered at the daylights out of you comment, but it was reassuring to hear, given that he felt the same way. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay?” Will’s blue eyes were hopeful but also doubtful. “It’s not my turn.”
They had always been respectful in their taking turns topping each other — they both liked being in control, running the show — but since striking out on their own, they were scrupulous about it. It seemed vital to their survival to preserve the balance of power between them, both inside and outside the bedroom.
“I don’t mind,” Taylor said, which wasn’t exactly true and sounded lukewarm even to his own ears. He did want, felt the need, to possess Will. Badly. But he also wanted to give Will whatever he wanted, whatever would make Will value what they had above anything else he’d known. So he said softly, deliberately, “I want you to, Will. I think I need it.”
Will’s eyes widened and then went dark with something that was a mix of excitement and passion. He made another of those inarticulate sounds from deep in his chest, something between a groan and a growl. “Yeah? You need it?”
Taylor nodded.
Will’s hands slid down Taylor’s back, closing on his ass, fingers digging through the denim as he snugged Taylor’s crotch to his own. Beneath the denim, Will’s erection was huge. Or maybe that was his own because there was no question that it was a total turn on to see how worked up Will was getting at the idea of his complete submission. Not that Taylor didn’t do his fair share of submitting, because he did. In fact, he didn’t find it particularly complicated or difficult the way Will did. Only the one time, the very first time, that time in the High Sierras hot spring, had submitting to Will freaked him out.
But something about this felt different. It wasn’t like he’d never said he needed Will to fuck him before. So what was so different here? What did Will think he was saying? What was he saying?
“I need you…” Didn’t that go without saying? For the first time it occurred to Taylor that maybe his sexual expertise was more of a hindrance than a help, that maybe Will — occasionally — felt performance pressure? He whispered, “Whatever you want. Tell me. Show me how…” The idea of Will intimidated by anything was ridiculous and yet, no question Will was aroused by this, by Taylor asking him to take complete charge.
Will’s arms locked around him, hefting him up — the image of Madonna wrapping her legs around Will flashed into Taylor’s brain — and transporting him to the bed. They fell onto it. The bed knocked against the wall, and one of the mattress springs went with a resounding boing. Comical, but neither of them was laughing. In fact, they were both breathing hard, watching each other.
Will reached out to gently touch the bruising around Taylor’s right eye. Taylor lowered his lashes. Will’s fingertips feathered over his skin, a touch that seemed to whisper apology as well as tenderness.
There was a knock on the door.
Will’s hand froze.
Taylor’s eyes flew open. “No way.”
“Housekeeping?” Will suggested. “A preemptive strike?”
“You think they have housekeeping here?”
The knocking came again. Quiet. Almost furtive.
Will rose from the bed, went to the window, opened the curtains a centimeter and looked out. The tension left his body. “You’re not going to believe this.” He glanced back at Taylor. “It’s Cousin Dennis.”
“What? He’s here?” Taylor was off the bed and moving toward the door. “I’m going to kill him myself.”
Will intercepted. “Let’s hear what he has to say.” He added, “Then I’ll kill him for you.”
Chapter Seven
“I panicked,” Dennis said. “I’m sorry. It’s not my fault. I saw that truck racing down the hill and I thought they were coming for me.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” Taylor replied. “I told you at the time nobody working for the mob drives a beat-up pickup.”
“Okay, look,” Will began again, and as before, the other two talked right over him.
“Mob? How do you know the mob is looking for me?” Dennis stared at Taylor in alarm. Not exactly what you’d call a Fulbright Scholar, Cousin Dennis.
“Come off it,” Taylor scoffed. “I sincerely doubt you’ve got links to, or evidence pertaining to terrorism or national security.”
Will said, “Why don’t we continue this —”
“And why the hell would you hit me?” Taylor added.
“I didn’t realize it was you,” Dennis said, “until I’d already knocked you out.”
“The hell you didn’t. The dogs were with me, I was calling to you. You must have heard the truck drive away.”
“I told you, I panicked.”
“Yeah, but I don’t believe you,” Taylor said.
Surprised, Will said to Taylor, “What do you think was going on?”
“I don’t know.” Taylor glared at Dennis who shifted nervously and looked at Will. “Oh, I believe he was scared. I believe he panicked, yes. He was sure the Dooleys had come for him. But why? Why was he so sure? Nobody knows where he is.” He looked at Dennis. “Right?”
“How do I know?” Dennis said. “I know they’re looking for me.”
“Maybe he’s seen too many movies,” Will said. “All I know is, we can’t stand around here talking about it. Let’s get back to the house. Pop needs to let his pals in the Marshals Service know that Dennis is back.”
It was disappointing though. Disappointing and frustrating. Frustrating to the point of physical pain. And if Will found it painful, Taylor must be tied up in knots. Just what Will did not want, could not afford. Taylor feeling neglected and unsatisfied. Which he clearly already did. One more thing to worry about.
They left the card key on the table as they exited the room and walked out to the parking lot. They climbed into Will’s Land Cruiser. With perfect timing, Emmylou Harris launched into “Together Again.”
“I thought you got on the CC Rider.” Taylor was clearly not going to let this go, and Will mentally braced for a very long drive.
“I snuck off again,” Dennis said, sounding pleased with himself.
“Why?”
“Because…”
“Exactly,” Taylor said dryly. Though exactly what, Will wasn’t clear.
Dennis leaned forward between the two front seats. “Look, I’m not a-a secret agent. I’m not used to life on the run.”
“So far it’s been a morning on the run.”
Will threw Taylor a look, but Taylor ignored him.
“Did you work for the Russ
ian mob?”
“Me?” Dennis sounded genuinely bewildered. “Of course not.”
“That’s quite a leap,” Will said to Taylor.
“The Russian mafia has taken over a lot of the criminal activity on the Gulf Coast.”
“Is that true?”
Taylor nodded. To Dennis, he said, “Well?”
“Well, what? I never worked for the Russian mob. I’ve never worked for any Russians. Ever.”
“Did you make any phone calls to anyone this morning?”
“Of course not! I’m not crazy.”
“Where are you going with this?” Will asked.
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“What coincidences?”
“You run into Gretchen Hart who used to work for a Russian mobster and less than twenty-four hours later we pick up a tail. We lose the tail but then we run into Cousin Dennis here who just happens to be running from trouble in South Florida, and now suddenly the tail is back.”
“Okay, slow down,” Will said. “First of all, we have no proof that anyone was or is tailing us. Secondly, that would be too big of a coincidence. That somehow Dennis is connected to someone in the Russian mob who would have it in for us? Who?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like this.”
“What is it you don’t like?”
Taylor threw Dennis a cold look. “Well, one thing I don’t like is getting my nose broken.”
“Your nose isn’t broken,” Will said. “Believe me, if your nose was broken, you’d know it.”
“I did not call anyone,” Dennis said. “I don’t know anyone in the Russian mob to call.”
Taylor ignored that. “What did you hit me with?”
Dennis looked uncomfortable. “I, uh, found a broken-off tree branch to defend myself with.”
“Nice.” Taylor stared straight ahead.
Will was angry about the tree branch himself. It wasn’t that difficult to kill someone if you hit them hard enough in the wrong spot.
